Wish List (12 page)

With Snookie’s arrival life settled into more of a routine for the two women. The dog had needs that needed to be taken care of. Lex Sanders invaded their life with a gusto that neither woman had ever experienced. The days passed swiftly and literally leaped into weeks that soon led into months.

“I feel like life is zipping by. I need more hours in the day,” Ariel grumbled on a bright sunny day in early April. Today I take my driving test, Wednesday evening is the martial arts exhibition, and Friday night we face off against the men in the shoot-off. Saturday I’m having dinner at Lex’s and I know he’s going to want to . . . I think . . . maybe I should cancel . . . I don’t think I’m ready . . . men are . . . what they do is . . . it’s been a long time.” Her voice sounded lame.

“It’s like riding a bike—it’ll all come back. Providing you’re interested. I had the impression you were more than ready. Let’s face it, Ariel, you need to get laid.”

“Dolly!”

“Well, you do. Who do you think is responsible for that smile on your face? Who’s putting that sparkle in your eyes? How come you ordered all those new clothes? Don’t insult me by saying it’s because of Snookie. Face it, Ariel, you’re falling in love and I think it’s wonderful. You deserve everything good that life has to offer. Lex Sanders seems to be that rare, one-in-a-million guy. I don’t think you should let him get away. I believe he’s already in love with you. Now, what are you going to do about it?”

“If it’s meant to be, it will be. It’s that simple. That’s another way of saying if the moment is right it will happen. Stop worrying about my sex life. That’s a damn order, Dolly.”

“You’re flustered and your face is flaming. Okay, I was teasing. I just want you to be happy, Ariel. Did you invite him to the dojo to see you do your routine?”

“No, and I’m not going to, either. I’ve only gone up a degree on my brown belt. Lex might . . . sometimes men get intimidated when women can do things like that. I’m going to miss going to the dojo, but I’ll start up again when Master Mitsu comes back from Japan. Don’t say anything, Dolly. And, no, I did not invite him to the shooting range. Same thing. Promise me?”

“I promise. He’d be proud of you, Ariel. That’s the kind of man he is. I personally don’t think the person’s been born yet who could intimidate Lex Sanders.”

“I think you’re right, Dolly. He is his own person, a one-of-a-kind guy. I like him a lot,” Ariel blurted.

“I knew it, I knew it! We have the perfect backyard for a wedding. I’ll cook everything. I’ll absolutely outdo myself. I want to be matron of honor and I’ll bet we can train Snookie to be the ring bearer. I knew it, I just knew it!” Dolly chortled.

Ariel threw the dishtowel at her, her cheeks pink, her eyes sparkling.

Lex Sanders looked as uncomfortable as he felt. Dressed in one of his six dark suits that he’d had custom made in Hong Kong, he looked every bit as professional as a Wall Street broker. He only dressed in what he referred to as his “Sunday-go-to-meetin’ ” clothes for weddings and funerals. Today he’d gone to the funeral of one of the ranchers who’d been a good neighbor and friend. He’d stayed just long enough to pay his respects and sample the carefully prepared luncheon.

Saddened that a good friend had gone on to that other place, Lex headed for his car. The car, also his “Sunday-go-to-meetin’” vehicle, was never used more than the suits hanging in his closet. For one thing, the Mercedes-Benz embarrassed him, and he should have known better than to buy it. But the purchase had been made at a time when he thought he needed expensive things to make up for a host of other things he hadn’t come to terms with. He’d come to learn that trappings of any kind did not measure a man’s worth. He felt even more guilty sitting in the luxurious sedan now that he’d chastised Ariel Hart for buying foreign imports. Damn, he couldn’t do anything right. He jerked at his tie that cost more than some men earned in a week, and tossed it in the back seat. He yanked at the top button on his shirt and when it wouldn’t give, he pulled down and then across, the button sailing out the open car window. He stretched his chafed neck and swore at Tiki for putting so much starch in the pristine white shirt. He rolled up his sleeves and stretched his neck one more time before he put the car into gear.

Within minutes he was on Interstate 5 heading home. Instead of taking his exit, he kept on driving when he remembered Ariel was taking her driving test on the Able Body rig. He risked a quick glance at his watch. If he drove like hell, he could probably be on hand to see if she passed or not. He wanted to be the first to congratulate her if she did. If she didn’t, he’d stay in the background and try to be invisible. His heart started to flutter at the thought of seeing Ariel in the middle of the day. He wondered if he was falling in love. If these strange feelings meant he was in love, he had to attend to some serious legal matters. The thought made his neck grow warm.

Lex continued to drive as his mind conjured up one fantasy after another. Before he knew it, he was opposite the driving school where Ariel and the other employees of Able Body Trucking were taking their test. He maneuvered the silver Mercedes into the lot of a Taco Bell and parked. He got out, ordered food he didn’t want, and sat down at one of the outdoor tables that afforded him a good view of the driving course across the street. He saw Ariel the moment he sat down. He immediately got to his feet to watch as she swung herself into the cab like a pro. He crossed his fingers, his eyes glued to the eighteen-wheeler as Ariel put the rig through her paces. Twice he sucked in his breath and grinned when she did something better than he himself had done during his own test years ago. He didn’t realize he was holding his breath until it exploded from his mouth like a gunshot. What the hell was he doing here? Spying. He hated the word. If Ariel spotted him she would . . . what? He knew he should leave, but his feet felt rooted to the concrete.

Twenty minutes later, when Ariel brought the huge truck to a complete stop, Lex felt like he’d run a marathon. He stood up when she opened the door of the cab, her clenched fist shooting in the air. At that moment he felt capable of selling his soul just to be there with her. Ariel jumped down, slapped Dolly’s open palm in a high-five, and grinned from ear to ear. She did a little jig, twirling about in a dizzying circle. Lex’s eyes widened and then narrowed. He sat back down on the spindly chair, his breathing suddenly harsh and raspy. Once before, years and years ago, he’d seen a young girl do exactly the same little jig when she made the cheerleading squad.

Five seconds later he was in the silver Mercedes. Super-spy Lex Sanders was going home where he belonged, to a world he was comfortable with. Memories were always comfortable.

Thirty minutes later, Lex roared through the iron gates the moment they swung open with the use of his remote control. He parked the car next to an ancient Joshua tree. He was ripping at the buttons on his white shirt and kicking his Brooks Brothers shoes off as he reeled up the steps. He stepped into clean, ironed jeans, but not before he peeled off his dress socks. A freshly ironed Banana Republic oversize T-shirt was yanked over his head. He heaved a mighty sigh of relief when he pulled on thick white socks and his worn work boots. This was who he was. He smoothed back his dark, curly hair and was stunned at what he saw in the mirror. Surely this wild-eyed person wasn’t himself. But it was. And all because he’d seen a woman do a silly little dance that reminded him of someone he used to know. Not just someone; his wife.

Lex walked back to his bedroom and sat down on the edge of the bed. By God, he was not going to pep talk himself again.
You goddamn well need a psychiatrist, Lex Sanders. You should have gone to one years ago or else you should have hired a private detective to find Aggie. You could afford therapy and a private dick, so why didn’t you do it?
“Shut up,” he muttered to his conscience. The words hissed from his lips. But his conscience refused to be silent.
Because you were ashamed. That’s it. You didn’t want to see the ridicule in the gringo’s eyes when you said you married an Anglo girl. You knew what they’d say behind your back. Even now you don’t want to believe it will be any different. You like being Lex Sanders. You buried Felix Sanchez. And now, you’re worried about Ariel Hart. What if she wants to share confidences and you blurt out something? How will she take that? Until you bury Aggie Bixby, you won’t be able to love anyone else, not even Ariel Hart. Today was all the proof you need.

Lex’s head dropped to his hands. His shoulders started to shake. Suddenly he wanted to be Felix Sanchez again. He longed for his smiling mother and his weary father who’d worked so hard to make sure their family survived the hardships of being poor. He cried then, because he needed to cry, needed to cleanse his spirit. And when he couldn’t cry any more he washed his face and combed his unruly hair that was becoming stiff and wiry now that it was turning gray. The moment he finished, he marched, with grim determination, to his study where he picked up the yellow pages. He called the first detective agency listed. In a cool, emotionless voice, he outlined what he wanted, gave a timetable, and then rattled off his credit card number. Until he could lay Aggie Bixby to rest, he was putting his fast-moving friendship with Ariel Hart on hold. To continue to see her when a simple thing like a little dance could throw him into a funk wasn’t fair. He could console himself by watching her old movies. He felt as if a truckload of cow manure had fallen on top of him.

Lex’s fist crashed down on the top of his desk. If someone came to him with a story like his own, he knew what he’d say.
What do you mean you’re still in love with a girl you met and married thirty-four years ago? Get real, man. That only happens in the movies. And, after an hour and forty-five minutes the star-crossed lovers fall into each other’s arms, right
? Yep, that’s what he’d say. And, that’s why he never told anyone about his past. He didn’t want to see the pity and disgust in their eyes. Better to keep it to himself in the darkness of his own room.

He looked around at the comfortable room he’d built with his own hands. The solid oak bookshelves were filled with thousands of books, and he’d read every single one of them. The furniture was burgundy, a man’s color, deep and extremely comfortable. Oftentimes he slept on the couch if he was too tired to go up to the second floor. He’d chosen the burlap fabric for the draperies and Mrs. Estrada had sewn and hung them, a perfect match for the wheat-colored carpeting. He’d made the desk, too; since childhood, he’d been good with his hands. The lamps were solid brass with burgundy shades that cast a warm, mellow glow to the room. His housekeeper, Tiki, had contributed flowering plants and ferns that she kept trimmed and watered. But it was the watercolors painted by the children of his workers that gave the room life. An exquisite gold frame adorned a cow—he knew it was a cow because the five-year-old artist used a red crayon to print the word
cow
above the animal—jumping over a yellow moon that had a point at the top. Brilliant stars shone down on tents, fluffy green clouds floated above a blue meadow filled with red daisies. His favorite was a train with nineteen box cars drawn on butcher paper. The elaborate custom-carved frame was worth every cent he paid for it. This was the room where he spent most of his spare time, a room that was his, built by him, for him. The only things missing were the Wurlitzer jukebox, Coke machine, and gumball machine. For years now he’d been trying to get originals, but no one wanted to part with their treasures. They were part of his youth, a youth he’d never really experienced. He’d placed orders up and down the coast, sent out letters all over the country. Just recently a dealer in Las Vegas who handled memorabilia had called and said he had a lead on all three items, but the price was astronomical. He’d decided that the word
astronomical
meant different things to different people. When you were trying to fill in missing pieces of your life, cost took a back seat.

His plan, if he was successful in acquiring the treasures, was to sit here in this room and play all the old records from that time in his life. He’d pop a dime into the Coke machine and drink the sweet drink until he was dizzy. Then he’d put a penny or a nickel into the bubble gum machine and chew until his jaws ached. In the basement he had sixty-four cases of long-neck Coca-Cola. Sitting next to the soda were four cartons of bubble gum, the bright little balls every color of the rainbow. Upstairs in his closet he had stacks and stacks of records that he was going to play by the hour, records he’d bought from collectors from all over the country. He wondered what Ariel Hart would think about his obsession—and it
was
an obsession—if he ever confided in her. “You have a screw loose, Lex Sanders,” he muttered. “You can’t go home again—some writer said that, and you know it’s true. Memories are just that, memories. That’s why they’re called memories. They happen once and then life moves on. But I want . . . need to know what it feels like to sip a Coke and listen to a jukebox. I want pennies in my pocket to pop into the machine, I want to chew those little suckers and blow bubbles. I want to experience that part of my life. Just once. It won’t be the same, he argued with himself. I don’t care, I want to try. I need to try. I goddamn will try. Then I’ll close that chapter of my life.

“Tiki,” Lex bellowed.

“Si, Señor Lex,” Tiki said, waddling into the room.

“I won’t be home for dinner. I’m going across the border. Do you want me to take any messages or bring anything back?”

“Si. I will make the list. Two baskets for the padre, Señor Lex?”

“As many as you want. Pack up some candies for the children and some of those picture books that were delivered the other day. Get Manny to load the truck. We might as well fill it up.”

Tiki twisted the hem of her snowy white apron between her fingers. “Señor Lex, the house telephone rings many times today. No one speaks. I say, hello, hello. No one says hello back. Many times yesterday, too.”